


Sherlock Vampires: Molly

by wheel_pen



Series: Sherlock Vampires AU [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day. Molly, part of vampire Sherlock’s family, has gone out for the evening, and he’s worried about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Vampires: Molly

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.  
> This story has not been Britpicked. Please let me know if I get anything horribly wrong.  
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

_Modern day_

Sherlock turned away from the window abruptly. “I’m going out to look for her,” he announced tensely.

“She’s probably fine,” John reminded him mildly from behind his newspaper.

“Stop worrying,” Irene commanded, less mildly. Her boredom with his concern was obvious. She didn’t even bother to look up from the Kindle she was rapidly paging through.

Sherlock growled out a sigh and went back to staring out the window at the street below. He wasn’t _serious_ about going out, or he would have just _done_ it instead of talking about it. It was hard for him to let any member of his family out on their own; the humans were used to freedom, though, and if he didn’t allow it they would become unhappy. Maybe they would feel less need once the renovations to the flat were complete and they had more space.

He turned away from the window again, about to make another declaration, but froze when he caught John looking at him. The man was so patient, especially for a human, and just gave him the tiniest little look that said, ‘Really? Are you really going to act this way?’ Sherlock decided he would just pace silently.

He was only on his third lap across the room, though, when a powerful feeling of apprehension overtook him. He froze for half a second, assessing strength and directionality, then yanked open the window with dangerous force and leaped out onto the street below.

“Sherlock!” John called in alarm, running to the window. There was no trace of him in the dark, wet evening. He didn’t think further before grabbing his jacket and rushing down to the street the more traditional way, by the stairs, though once he was standing on the pavement his problem of which way to go was apparent.

“That way,” Irene called helpfully from the open window, pointing, and John jogged off towards the park. Warm and cozy in their home Irene shook her head in exasperation and shut the window. “Mrs. Hudson!” she called down the stairs. “We’ll need some tea soon.” Then she went back to her novel.

**

Walking through the park after dark had obviously been a foolish idea, Molly realized now, making herself walk even faster without succumbing to a run. People always said _not_ to do it, but then again lots of people _did_ do it, like her friend Charlene, and they were always fine. And it wasn’t at all late and she was only cutting across a little corner, to get home faster in the rain.

But she thought someone was following her. Her heart pounded in her chest and her blood was ice in her veins and she couldn’t think of anything sensible to do, like zigzagging behind a tree or getting out her mobile or even turning back to check behind her to see if it was all her imagination. She just had to keep walking, quickly, until she was home and safe.

Her nerves frayed, she yelped in fear when something shot past her in the dark and she finally started running in earnest, never looking back to see what the thing had collided with. At the edge of the park someone grabbed her and she screamed again, fighting the strong arms.

“Molly! Molly, it’s just me.”

“Oh. John!” she exclaimed as her eyes focused. She looked back into the park fearfully. “There was—“

“Did you see Sherlock?” he asked her urgently.

“I don’t know,” she stammered. “Maybe—“

John glanced around quickly, assessing his options, then took her hand and pulled her back into the park. “Come on.”

Molly really didn’t want to go back in there, she wanted to go home, but it was definitely safer with John. They didn’t have to retrace her steps far before they saw a dark shape on the path, low to the ground, moving with a sinuous, unnatural sway. John stopped abruptly and Molly stayed behind him, afraid to look but also afraid to look away.

A passing light illuminated the shape for an instant and Sherlock stared up at them, his eyes blazing red, blood dripping down his chin. Then he buried his mouth in the neck of the man on the ground again.

“Let’s go home,” John advised, turning quickly, and Molly made no argument. “Was he following you?” he asked as they made it to the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” Molly confessed with a sniffle, and John put his arm around her shoulders as they walked along. “Maybe. I think _someone_ was.”

John nodded. “He’s been worried about you all day,” he went on in a lighter tone, and Molly’s head snapped up.

“Really?” she asked, hopefully.

“Oh yes,” John assured her, letting some exasperation slip in to add authenticity. “He’s been pacing, tracking your phone on the computer, asking if you’d called.”

“I should’ve called more,” Molly responded guiltily. “Or texted, at least.”

“No, you were fine,” John promised. “You were having a good time with your friends. But he worries.” This would have made some people upset, others angry; but it made Molly happy, to have some small part of Sherlock’s attention.

They reached the door of Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson opened it for them. “You’re soaked through to the skin, dears,” the housekeeper tutted, peeling off their sopping coats.

Irene leaned down over the railing. “Where’s Sherlock?” she wanted to know.

“He, um, he stopped off for a quick bite,” John deadpanned. Molly let out an awkward giggle, more a release of nervous tension than anything else, and Irene rolled her eyes at the lame puns humans still loved. John’s expression was more dismayed than amused, though.

“Well, he’d better get back soon, I’m going out at nine,” she warned, as if either of them could do anything about that. Then she disappeared back upstairs.

“You go get changed into some dry clothes,” Mrs. Hudson instructed, “and I’ll bring you up some tea.”

The two of them slogged up to their rooms barefoot, changing clothes hurriedly in the slightly chilly air. The sitting room with its lit fire and steaming cups of tea was much more comfortable.

“Well what happened?” Irene demanded, as though they’d been denying her an explanation.

“I left Rose’s, and I thought I could just cut through the park,” Molly started to explain, hesitantly, and Irene scoffed at her foolishness.

“You should’ve just taken a cab,” she insisted. “Or called, one of us would’ve come for you.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I just didn’t think of it,” Molly allowed in a small voice. John sipped his tea and said nothing, feeling awkward for her but at the same time agreeing with Irene. It was hard to give up your habits of independence, even if you weren’t particularly bold to begin with. “And then—I thought someone was following me,” Molly went on after a moment, as Irene stared at her expectantly.

The other woman’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Really? An actual mugger? Perhaps a potential rapist?”

“Irene!” John chided, his sense of decency chafed by the eagerness of her tone.

“Well I presume Sherlock saved you from this miscreant,” Irene went on, slightly put out by John’s admonition. “I mean if he wasn’t a miscreant Sherlock just killed some banker taking a shortcut home from work.”

Molly made a sound of distressed surprise, not having considered this, and John gave Irene another chiding look, rattling his teacup on the saucer in that way that stung her sensitive ears. “Anyway, she’s fine now, home and safe,” he added with only slightly forced cheerfulness. “How was the—what did they call it? Was it the hen party?”

Molly was still a little shaken at the idea of Sherlock murdering an innocent person who just happened to be following her a bit too closely. “Um, no, it’s this thing from America, a bridal shower,” she tried to explain. “It’s all the girlfriends but also aunts and Grandma and such, and they all brought presents and we watched Ellie open them.”

Irene blinked at her. “You all sat around and watched someone open presents, like at a child’s birthday party?” she rephrased with disdain. “How ghastly! I’m not surprised it’s from America. I hope it doesn’t become a trend.”

“Oh, did you get supper?” John thought to ask her.

“Yes, they had Indian food,” Molly assured him. “Oh, we played some games, too, very silly things like wrapping the bride in toilet paper and counting how many ribbons she broke—that’s supposed to be how many children she’ll have,” she added to John as Irene rolled her eyes.

“Oh, well, that sounds like fun,” he tried valiantly. “Er, did you know many people there?”

She seemed grateful for his attempt. “Well, a few of my friends from work, and I’d met Ellie’s mother and sister before, but not her other relatives or Freddie’s,” she replied, and John nodded as though he remembered exactly who all those people were. “And the girls from work, they asked after me, what I was up to now,” she went on, more slowly.

“Oh?”

“Well, of course I said that I was studying quite a lot,” Molly assured him, sticking to the cover story they’d devised, “but it got rather awkward as Ellie’s cousin was at uni and kept asking me all these questions, and I was trying to say I was doing it mostly online or something—“

Irene’s noise of derision expressed her feelings on that matter. “It’s too complicated these days, everyone expecting everyone to remain _connected_ ,” she complained. “Used to be you’d just say you had a _condition_ and had to laze about the seaside, taking the waters.”

“Yes, I do miss tuberculosis,” John responded, with just enough fake brightness to make Molly snicker involuntarily.

“Well, it was _easier_ ,” Irene insisted. “And,” she added warningly, “nice girls didn’t go out after dark without an escort.”

“Who wants nice girls,” Sherlock deadpanned, bursting into the room with his usual whirlwind of energy. He’d changed clothes, John noticed, and had the slightly manic gleam in his eye he often got after a good, long feed. John really hoped it hadn’t been some innocent banker.

Before Molly could react Sherlock leaped handily over the couch and knelt down in front of her. “Molly, are you alright?” he asked solemnly, boring into her with his bold, blue eyes. John didn’t blame her for suddenly feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her; he remembered that well enough himself.

“Of course she’s alright,” Irene insisted, walking behind the younger woman to knead her shoulders lightly. She might not always hold her tongue when she should, but she felt affectionate towards Molly. “We weren’t going to let anything happen to her.”

“You didn’t even leave the flat,” John pointed out mildly.

Irene did not take this negatively. “I was _about_ to, when I heard you coming back,” she claimed. “Well, I’ve got to get dressed,” she added, turning away. “It’s Disco Night at Brown Dan’s and—“

A growl from Sherlock stopped her and she turned back around in surprise. He was still crouched in front of Molly, one hand on the couch on either side of her, but he was now staring over her head at Irene. He’d already had one risky encounter for a member of his family tonight; he was not about to let another of them out of his sight. Of course Irene didn’t see it that way and narrowed her eyes at him, preparing to assert herself. For once Molly did not look pleased to be in such close proximity to Sherlock, not when she could feel the dangerous tension radiating from him.

John did not normally get in between vampires with a disagreement, but then again Molly was _already_ in between. “Hey,” he said to Sherlock softly, ruffling his dark curls. Immediately the blue eyes snapped to him. He faltered slightly under their intensity but managed a small, reassuring smile anyway. “We’re all fine now. We’re safe at home.”

Sherlock relaxed marginally and took a breath before speaking. “And that’s where we’re going to stay,” he told Irene firmly.

“I’m not a fragile human,” Irene scoffed. “I’ll be perfectly safe!” Some of the raw rebellion had gone out of her, though, once she saw Sherlock calm slightly and realized how wound up he’d been before. John caught Molly’s eye and gestured for her to take over slowly running her hand through Sherlock’s hair. It was not a foolproof distraction method for a tense vampire but it was handy to know in a pinch.

“Disco Night?” Irene tried again, being very proud of her wardrobe of authentic ‘70’s clubwear. But she was beginning to realize it wasn’t going to happen. Sherlock gave her a narrow look, as if asking why this was still under discussion, and she gave up with an ungracious huff. “Fine!” Then she turned and stomped off to her room to sulk. That was hardly worth worrying about, though.

Sherlock’s eyes went back to Molly, tracing the arm that was touching him, and she froze as though expecting him to object. He tilted his head slightly into her hand, encouraging her to continue. “Are you alright?” he asked her again.

She nodded quickly. “Yes, I’m fine. Er, thank you.”

“You were scared,” Sherlock pointed out, watching her face intently. “I could feel it.”

“I shouldn’t have gone through the park, it was stupid,” she acknowledged to him. “I thought, it was just a few blocks, it was silly to get a ride—“

“No, not silly,” Sherlock countered, in a reassuring way. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Molly.” She nodded again, then started to cry, intimidated by his intensity. Villainous muggers Sherlock knew how to deal with, but crying left him perplexed and slightly alarmed, and he blinked several times without coming up with any viable ideas. (He’d already been told, in no uncertain terms, that saying, ‘Stop crying’ was a bit not good.) Finally he glanced over at John with an expression of helplessness, which was darkly amusing considering his powers. John indicated with hand gestures that he should hug Molly, so he scrambled up on the couch beside her and gently took her into his arms, mindful that she _was_ a fragile human.

“I’m sorry,” Molly told him wetly.

“Well, I was going to eat out tonight anyway,” Sherlock shrugged, which confusingly didn’t seem to help calm her.

John scrambled for a pen and scribbled on the newspaper nearby, holding it up for Sherlock to see—BAD GUY written in all caps. “Um, oh, he was a bad guy,” Sherlock claimed, not very convincingly, but whether from confusion or deception wasn’t clear. John gestured for him to elaborate. “Yeah, he was, um, really bad.”

“Really?” Molly asked hesitantly. “He was really following me to—mug me?”

She sounded hopeful at this prospect, which went against what Sherlock usually thought humans wanted, but John nodded vigorously.

“Oh, yeah, career criminal, very nasty things in mind,” he insisted. “Um, did you want to hear them?” Now John was shaking his head and gesturing for him to shut up.

“No,” Molly replied. “But I’m glad he wasn’t just someone innocent walking home. Since now he’s dead, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Sherlock responded as he finally understood. “Yes, decidedly dead.”

“Disposed of?” John asked, trying to be discreet.

Sherlock shrugged a little. “Well enough.” That did not really give John a lot of confidence—this wasn’t the olden days, as Irene liked to point out, when you could dump a body in the river and expect it to never be seen again. Sometimes Sherlock discounted what modern forensic science was capable of. But John didn’t want to question him further in front of Molly.

“You smell like curry,” Sherlock observed suddenly, sniffing her.

“We had Indian food at the bridal shower,” she explained, wiping her eyes with the tissue John handed her.

“Oh. I thought it would’ve washed off.”

“In the rain?” Molly asked in confusion.

John knew better how his mind worked, though. “At the _shower_ ,” he supplied lightly.

“Oh, it’s not like—It’s like _showering_ the bride with gifts,” Molly tried to explain.

“Really?” Clearly this was not at all what Sherlock had been imagining, much to his disappointment—not in a salacious way, more because he didn’t like being wrong.

“They sat around and watched someone open presents,” Irene declared, reentering the scene. She had changed clothes and redone her make-up, which always made her feel better. “It sounds dreadfully dull.” She lounged sideways in a chair, draping her legs over the arm. “I _hoped_ they were all going to be showering together,” she went on—salaciously—“but seems a little unlike Molly to participate in such a thing, don’t you think?”

“I thought perhaps they’d be wearing bathing suits,” Sherlock theorized. “No? Nothing like that at all?”

“No,” Molly assured him with a small smile.

“Oh. Well then. John, did you eat dinner?” Sherlock asked abruptly.

The other man was slightly startled to be singled out suddenly. “Um, yes, I had some pears and cheese.” He frowned. “Don’t you remember?” He’d been sitting in practically the same spot he was now, just a couple hours earlier.

Sherlock blinked, searching his memory for images that had been collected without conscious effort. “Oh, I suppose. I was distracted thinking about Molly.”

She seemed touched by this and laid her head companionably on Sherlock’s shoulder, snuggling in under his arm more, which he also didn’t know how to deal with. “Are you cold? You should go sit by John,” he suggested matter-of-factly. “Or perhaps you should go take an _actual_ shower, as you’re rather damp, and you do smell like curry.” Sherlock was not especially fond of curry.

Molly sat back up quickly, cringing slightly. “Oh, sorry, I guess you’re right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I suppose I will, then—“ She stood, alone.

Irene, who had rolled her eyes again, muttered something in Russian; whatever it was hadn’t occurred to Sherlock and he frowned at her, assessing it. He glanced at John, who had never learned to speak Russian but could guess well enough what she’d said, and his glance at Molly’s retreating figure was confirmation enough. Sherlock bounced to his feet on the sofa cushions, then swung his long legs over the back of it. “Molly, I’ll come with you,” he announced, then corrected himself, “ _May_ I come with you?” though he seemed confident of the answer.

“Sure, of course,” Molly agreed, nervous and thrilled at the same time. They disappeared down the hall.

“He’s always had poor people skills,” Irene commented idly. “Almost got him burned at the stake once. Did I ever tell you about that?”

“Yes,” John assured her, trying to read his newspaper again.

With supernatural speed she appeared before him, crouching to stare up at his face expectantly, and John did _not_ amuse her by jumping in surprise. “Since I don’t get to go out,” she purred, pushing the newspaper aside, “let’s have some fun.”

“Disco dancing?” John asked, trying for dry but failing slightly as she boldly slid her hands up his thighs.

Sherlock ruined the no-doubt witty entendre on the tip of her tongue by reappearing in the doorway suddenly. “Do _not_ go out tonight—“he started to warn, then comprehended the scene. “Oh good, you aren’t,” he judged. Then his gaze narrowed again. “Not a single bruise on him, Irene,” he demanded. “I _will_ check.”

“I know you will,” she agreed, seductive and amused at the same time, as John squirmed uncomfortably at the assessment. Sherlock vanished again, and Irene pounced.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s it for Sherlock Vampires at the moment. Thanks for reading!


End file.
